


Corrupted

by RogueTranslator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Come Eating, Crack, Dubious Consent, Erotica, Established Relationship, Facials, Fuck Or Die, Incest, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Multi, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Sickfic, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTranslator/pseuds/RogueTranslator
Summary: "Come on, Cass. Suck it up."—Jensen AcklesCastiel is afflicted with a mysterious illness. Dean, of course, will do whatever it takes to heal him.Unfortunately, the only cure comes with a few strings attached.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Michael/Dean Winchester, Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	Corrupted

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the result of me watching SVPT on YouTube when I should have been working on my much more wholesome longfic. Credit for the prompt goes to Jensen, whose quote has been stuck in my head for days. Maybe now it won't be?
> 
> No idea when/if I'll write a new chapter. It's absurd crack and, like I said, a diversion from the thing I should be doing.

"This is it," Sam said, raising his head from the largest of the bunker's angelology tomes. "Dean, come here."

With a sigh, Dean got up from the other table and made his way to Sam's side. If this solution, like the last five, didn't pan out, he didn't want to get his hopes up. Inwardly, though, he was desperate for this to be what saved Castiel.

"Alright," Dean muttered. "What exactly am I looking at?"

"Here." Sam speared some lines of florid calligraphy with his index finger. "Grace corruption. Cass has all the symptoms. Muscle weakness, vertigo, fever—"

"Chills, excessive perspiration. Eventually, death."

"It says that it's God's punishment for an angel lying with a human." Sam glanced at Dean. "I'm sure that's just the Church's propaganda, though."

"Whatever," Dean said. "How do we cure him?"

"Um—" Sam traced his finger down the margin. "It says that corrupted grace can be repaired by the infusion of archangel grace, but only by means of a human vessel."

"Which means what?"

Sam leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. "No idea."

"Well, let's hope Michael does."

"Michael?"

"Yes, Sam. Michael. He's the only archangel on the board. Unless you know something I don't."

"No, it's not that. It's just—he wasn't exactly thrilled with us the last time we saw him. And neither was Adam."

"Sam, Cass is dying. I can't care about their hurt feelings!"

"Yeah." Sam stood and shut the book with a thud. "Yeah, you're right. I'll go check on Jack; you pray to Michael."

Dean finished the whiskey in his glass before following Sam out of the library. At the door to his room, he paused to corral his emotions, then entered and beamed at Castiel.

"Dean," Castiel groaned. He was lying in the middle of the bed, tucked into the covers up to his shoulders, wearing one of Dean's black T-shirts.

"Hey." Dean knelt down beside him and dabbed his forehead with one of the rags from the nightstand. "Hey, I'm here, Cass."

"I don't—I feel...." Castiel opened his eyes and gave Dean a pleading look.

"It's alright, Cass. We found out what's wrong with you."

Castiel tilted his head weakly.

"Grace corruption."

"No." Castiel coughed. "That's a myth. It's not a real thing."

"I don't know, Cass. We have to try." When Castiel didn't object, Dean took that as acquiescence. "Listen, Cass, it said we have to infuse you with archangel grace through a human vessel. Do you know what that means?"

"I know what it sounds like," Castiel said, and for a moment, it sounded to Dean like he'd regained some spark of his normal humor. That tiny shard of defiance, of life, gave Dean more hope than he'd had in days.

"I'm going to pray to Michael," Dean said. "You just rest. I'll be right here."

Castiel didn't respond, instead closing his eyes and falling back into the pillow. Dean sat against the boxspring and bowed his head.

"Michael? It's Dean Winchester. I don't know where you and Adam are these days or what you're doing, but I—we—need your help. It's Cass; he's dying. We think we've found what's wrong with him, but only an archangel can cure it. We'd really appreciate it if you could come down here and help him."

Dean looked up. He scanned the room for a few seconds before lowering his head again.

"I know that what Sam and I did to you and Adam was—there's no excuse for it. We left you to rot and all I can say is that I was wrong and selfish and that I'm truly sorry. But don't punish Cass for what Sam and I did. He doesn't deserve to die because of me."

Dean sniffed. Castiel was moaning again, so Dean picked up one of the damp hand towels, dried off his face and neck, and folded down the blankets so that he could cool down.

"Cass," Dean whispered, stroking his cheek. "Hang on, buddy."

Just when Dean had started to think that they weren't going to show, Michael landed at the foot of his bed.

"Dean."

"You came," Dean said, springing up. "Thank you!"

"Don't thank us yet," Michael said. "I don't even know if I can help."

"I'll get Sam." Dean threw open his door and ran to Jack's room, where Sam was hugging Jack to his chest.

"Dean?" Jack blubbered, his eyes red.

"Michael," Dean said. "He's here."

The three of them returned to Dean's bed, where Michael had taken a seat beside Castiel and was fingering his pulse with consternation.

"He's unwell," Michael said.

"Yeah, we know. Sammy, tell him what you told me."

"Uh." Sam cleared his throat. "We think Castiel's grace is corrupted. He has all the symptoms."

"That would make sense," Michael replied.

"It does? I mean, you're sure?"

Sam glanced at him. "Dean."

"No, I just mean—Cass said there's no such thing. That it's a myth. I just want to make sure that _you're_ sure."

"It almost never happens," Michael said. "I'm not surprised he's heard more rumors of it than actual occurrences. But an angel inhabiting the same vessel for this long and...intermingling himself with a human—those are risk factors." Michael regarded Dean keenly, appraisingly, and Dean averted his eyes.

"Can I heal him?" Jack said, pushing between Dean and Sam.

"I'm not sure," Michael said. "Although I'm very sure that you wouldn't want to be the one to heal him, Nephilim, once you know what that entails."

"I don't understand."

"Castiel," Michael said. "It would probably be best if your child isn't present for the conversation we're about to have."

With what looked like herculean effort, Castiel sat up on his elbows. "Jack."

"Hey," Dean said, moving to Castiel's side. "Don't push yourself."

"I'm fine," Castiel insisted. "Jack, let me hug you. Then, I'd like you to go to your room—or the kitchen, wherever you like—until Sam or Dean tell you that you can come back."

Jack walked over, and Dean shuffled out of the way.

"I'm afraid," Jack said, as he and Castiel embraced.

"Don't be," Castiel responded. "Michael can help me. I'll get better."

"You have to. You promised me."

Castiel nodded. "You're right; I did promise."

Jack told Castiel that he loved him, and Castiel said the same in return, and after the door closed, the others resumed talking.

"We must act quickly," Michael said. "He doesn't have long." As if on cue, Castiel collapsed back into the sheets.

"How do we fix him?" Dean said.

"The official story is that grace corruption happens when an envesseled angel falls in love with a human, consummates, and then isn't returned to Heaven before the infection takes hold." Michael stared down at Castiel in pity. "A true vessel should be near-immune to grace corruption, but it's possible that the Empty made a mistake at some point when it restored him. The tiniest flaw would be like a chink in his armor."

"A while back, his powers started getting weaker," Dean said.

"Then that's probably why."

Sam stepped forward. "Just tell us what we need to do. I'll—we'll—do whatever it takes."

"I only know of a few cases of grace corruption through all of our history. Gabriel was the one to cure it each time."

"Gabriel? Why him?"

"'Infusion of archangel grace via a human vessel' is a euphemism for penetrative sex," Michael answered.

"Oh." Dean thought back to Gabriel's prolific appetites. "That's why."

"You're joking," Sam said. "That's completely ridiculous."

"It's meant to be a closing of the circle," Michael said. "It teaches an angel who has strayed that his real master is Heaven. Us."

Sam grimaced. "Okay, not ridiculous. Just sick."

"Well, you both met my father. He didn't turn out to be quite as benevolent as any of us thought."

"Yeah, he was a pretty sick puppy." Dean glanced at Castiel. "So, this—infusion. It's the only way to heal Cass?"

Michael nodded solemnly.

"Well, we're going to have to ask him first." Dean walked to his bedside and knelt over Castiel. "Hey, Cass? You awake?"

"Dean," Castiel mumbled.

"I'm here." Dean stroked Castiel's hair. "Cass, we figured out how to help you. But—I want to make sure you're okay with it."

"I heard."

"You did?" Dean said. "Then—what Michael has to do—"

"I want you," Castiel said. "You do it."

"Me?"

"He means that he wants you to be the vessel," Michael said. "I have no objection to that."

Dean scowled. "Well, of course _you_ don't. You've wanted to get inside me since before I was even born."

"Dean." Sam pinched his forehead. "That's gross."

"Castiel is fading," Michael said. "The corruption will claim him soon. You must make your decision."

Dean shook his head and began to pace in circles. Sam walked over to him, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean, this is what Cass wants. He probably feels safer if it's his partner who's doing the actual—you know."

"It won't be me in the driver's seat though, Sam, it'll be Michael. Remember the last time I had that dickbag in my head?"

"That wasn't him. This Michael helped us. And he's loyal to our brother. That must mean something."

Dean glanced at Castiel. Already, his breaths looked shallower.

"I can't let him die, Sammy," Dean whispered. "Not after everything. Not when we can finally be happy."

Sam patted his back. "I know."

"If I say yes," Dean said, turning to Michael. "How do I know you'll release me afterward?"

"You have my word," Michael replied. "I'm no longer interested in you, Dean. I've been with Adam for hundreds of years. I belong with him."

"We believe you," Sam said, before Dean could respond. "And we're grateful. Not just to you; to Adam, as well."

"Fine," Dean said. "Let's do it. Sam, go hang out with Jack."

"As if I'd stay and watch," Sam said, with a huff. He exited Dean's room, closing the door softly behind him.

"There is one more thing," Michael said. His tone had changed: it was deeper, with a lilt to it that suggested a certain ruthlessness.

"Which is?"

"Adam and I have been together for centuries, yet have never had the chance to experience the bodily act with each other. After I've cured Castiel, I want to offer that to him. Using your body as my vessel."

The realization of what Michael was proposing broke over Dean like a thunderclap. He recoiled, backing up to the wall, and crossed his arms.

"You're insane. Adam's my brother."

"Half-brother."

"That makes it better?"

"I suppose it does, mathematically."

"You're insane," Dean repeated, staring Michael down. "Is Adam even on board with this?"

"I haven't asked him yet. But he's expressed a desire for a very long time. Not for you—he understands the moral distinction between vessel and angel, though. Better than any human who has ever lived, I'd say."

"He's not going to want it. I mean, we never even met when he was alive, but still—"

"I'll be the one in control," Michael said, as phlegmatic and emotionless as ever. "You'll simply be the vehicle. When you drive your car, is it not you who is responsible for what it does on the road?"

"That's a terrible analogy," Dean protested. "My car doesn't have a half-brother who I'd be forcing her to screw."

Michael shrugged. "I was never good with comparisons."

"Bees," Castiel murmured. His voice was muffled by the pillowcase. "So many...bees. And Dean. Huckleberry."

"Cass?" Dean checked his pulse, the temperature of his forehead. "Cass? Hey. Can you hear me?"

"The delirium is setting in," Michael said dispassionately. "He doesn't have long now."

"Cass?"

When he didn't answer, Dean dragged the back of his hand over the corners of his eyes. "So, this is it, huh? You get to use me to have sex with my half-brother, or the guy I love dies?"

"We all need something," Michael said.

Dean wiped away more tears as he stood up. "I can't let Cass die, no matter what. So, you're going to fix him."

"Will I get what I want in return?"

"Once I hear from him that he's completely healed, then—then I guess I don't have a choice."

"Don't break our agreement," Michael warned. "Remember who I am."

"Oh, don't worry," Dean said viciously. "After this, I'll never forget who you really are."

"Say yes."

Dean clenched his jaw. "Yes."

Michael's eyes shone ice blue, and a river of grace streamed across the room. Dean felt the torrid, suffocating heat of Michael inside him for the second time; he fell to the floor on his hands and knees, coughing; he screamed as his molecules were remapped to the wavelengths of God's first creation. After a few seconds, he blinked and, from somewhere inside himself, watched his body extend to its full height again.

"We must begin," Michael said, through Dean's mouth. "Adam, go wait with the others."

"Uh." Adam blinked and clutched his head. "Right. Good luck."

_Hurry up,_ Dean said, once Adam had left.

"Castiel," Michael said, as he tore off Dean's flannel shirt, jeans, and boxers. "I am going to infuse you with my grace, through Dean, as you requested."

Castiel groaned something in response.

_Make sure he knows what's going on,_ Dean said.

Michael climbed onto the bed and straddled Castiel. He stacked the pillows and propped Castiel's head up, then tapped a pulse of golden light onto his forehead.

"Ow," Castiel said. His eyes widened at the sight of a fully naked Dean above him. "I feel...better."

"It will only last a little while," Michael said. "I must infuse you with my grace before you succumb."

"I understand," Castiel said. He glanced at Dean's half-hard cock and gulped.

"I...can let Dean out," Michael offered. "Until the moment of orgasm. I have to be in control then, else the infusion will not work."

"Cass?" Dean said. "Oh, god. That switch feels weird."

"Dean." Castiel rubbed the side of Dean's thigh. "Thank you so much for doing this for me. Since it's you, I feel safe."

"I couldn't let you die, Cass." Dean leaned down and kissed Castiel's lips, his nose, the heat of his forehead. "Not now that we can finally be together."

_Dean,_ Michael said. _We must not delay any longer._

"Yeah, okay."

"What?"

"Michael's telling me to get a move on," Dean explained. He glanced down at his cock, then raised his eyebrows at Castiel. "That means, uh."

"Right. I should fellate you."

"Not the sexiest way—woah." Dean shivered as Castiel ran his tongue around the base of his glans, then back to the tip. "Been a while since we've done this."

"Mmm," Castiel agreed. He pulled Dean out of his mouth to speak. "Being gravely ill tends to drain the libido."

Dean ran his fingers through Castiel's thick, sweat-soaked hair. "You'll get better soon, sweetheart. Just keep going."

_He's skilled,_ Michael noted, as Castiel crammed inch after inch of Dean into his mouth and throat. _The two of you must practice a lot._

_Pipe down_ , Dean thought. _I'm trying to forget you're in there._

Castiel came up for air, releasing Dean with a loud pop; a transparent string of spit and precome connected them. Dean was fully hard now, curved upward, nearly tickling the point of Castiel's nose.

"Dean," Castiel sighed contentedly. "I've missed you so much."

"Well damn, Cass. If it makes you this hungry for my cock, maybe you should get sick more often."

Castiel narrowed his eyes; they exchanged a playful glance.

_That's a little insensitive._

"Yeah, well, that's kind of my sense of humor. Cass gets that."

"Stop talking to him," Castiel said, from between Dean's thighs. "It's disturbing."

"Sorry, I didn't realize I said that out—"

Dean shuddered, forgetting the rest of what he had meant to say as soon as Castiel started gently pulling on his balls with his lips and teeth, rolling them over the roof of his mouth, bathing them with his tongue. Then, he traced a strip up the underside of Dean's cock and returned his attention to his swollen head, stroking his foreskin back and forth over it as he licked and sucked.

"God, yes," Dean gasped, and Castiel glanced up at him, stern disapproval in his cerulean eyes. "Sorry, old habits."

_You're close to ejaculation,_ Michael declared. _That didn't take long._

_Well, it's been a while since the last time. I've been a tad preoccupied with making sure my boyfriend doesn't die._

"Oh, Dean," Castiel sighed. He took a breath and coaxed his tongue over and into Dean's slit, receiving a gush of precome as his reward. "You're my favorite taste in the entire world."

Dean hung his head. His knees buckled, and he gripped the headboard for purchase. "Cass. Cass, I'm—"

_Time for me to take over._

"Dean?" Castiel narrowed his eyes. "No, Michael."

"Keep going," Michael ordered. "I'm nearly there."

Castiel hesitated. He licked his lips and frowned.

"Suck." Michael pulled Castiel by the hair and drove his cock past his dark, swollen lips, bottoming out in one smooth motion. Castiel gagged. "Suck!"

_Hey!_ Dean barked. _Don't treat him like that!_

"Almost there, little brother," Michael panted. "I've almost fixed you."

"Blrgh," Castiel gurgled. His eyes were screwed shut; his hands clawed at the sheets as Michael fucked his face mercilessly.

_Stop it,_ Dean said. _What the hell are you doing?_

"I'm coming," Michael announced. He pushed into Castiel, but Castiel knocked him away, his eyes flashing with fear. Instead of infusing Castiel's throat, Michael shot his load all over his face, neck, and chest.

_Son of a bitch! Put me back in the driver's seat, now!_

With a blink of Michael's eye, Dean was back in control. He startled, nearly losing his balance and falling back onto Castiel's hips.

_He needs to ingest all of it,_ Michael said. _Feed it to him._

"Cass," Dean said. "You okay?"

"Dean." Castiel squinted through the come on his eyelids; he sounded frail again. "I'm sorry. He wasn't—I had to—"

"Shh," Dean said. He scooped up the come from Castiel's T-shirt and lifted it to his mouth. "Don't apologize. Here."

Castiel kissed and licked Dean's hand clean. When he was done, Dean gathered up what had fallen on his neck and cheeks and held it up to him.

_Hurry, Dean. My grace is already fading from that._

"Cass, you've got to drink this. It's the only way you'll get better."

Castiel parted his lips, permitting Dean to stick his fingers into his mouth. He sucked him clean, emitting a small sigh when Dean withdrew.

_The rest of it,_ Michael said.

Dean rolled his eyes. He wiped up what he could from Castiel's eyelids and forehead and brushed at his lips, seeking entry. Castiel moaned and shook his head.

"Come on, Cass. Suck it up."

Reluctantly, Castiel angled his head to allow Dean in. His tongue barely moved, so Dean scraped his fingers on his teeth, figuring that his natural reflex to swallow would carry the rest of the come down his throat. Dean sat back and watched Castiel intently.

_Let him rest,_ Michael said. _He needs to recover. So do you._

_I said I'd only do your twisted deal if Cass gets better. I don't see that happening yet._

_No,_ Michael said. _Not Adam. Castiel isn't finished yet._

Dean gulped. _What do you mean?_

_The oral infusion wasn't enough. He needs more._

_More?_ Dean thought, even though he knew exactly what Michael was alluding to.

_He needs me to infuse him from the other end._


End file.
